The Other Pain.

When I was a little girl, I always used to have this thing in mind that I should not cry in front of anyone no matter what, either they be my family members or my school fellows. I was 6 or 7 years of age perhaps. I used to suppress my urge to cry every time when I got wounded badly. Wounds, which I was very prone to. Wounds, which bled. Wounds, which took time to heal. Wounds, which remind you of the immense blessing of Allah that he created you with every thing so beautifully put in place. Yes, I never used to cry over the superficial wounds that I used to get quite often.  

As a child, I didn't cry when I had an accident and my forehead was injured. I didn't cry when my finger was trapped in the door lock and my nail got off. I didn't cry when I once was scarred by the bangle which cut deep. I didn't cry when I fell on the road once and my knees and elbows were badly hurt. I didn't just cry. I don't like crying over such things. 

I believe one should be strong to bear the pain. Be patient. Be calm. It goes away. It fades away. Body wounds heal in no time. Only scars are left which are lifeless and cold. Such wounds don't matter. Such wounds aren't vital. Such wounds aren't a thing to be afraid of. To cry on.

Then there is other pain. A pain that you feel not because you're bearing it but because you can feel the pain in others around you. You can feel for their pain. The pain that puts you more close to to the people around you than ever. The very kind of pain which renders people hopeless yet it knits a bond stronger than before among them. It's this pain that we live in families. We live in societies. We live as a nation. We feel. We are close in times of pain.

This pain makes me cry. Yes I cry. I cried when my brother had an accident. I cried when my nephew had a terrible wound on his finger that he could have lost it. I cried  when my father got operated. I cried when my mother was ill. I cried when a close relative lost her third baby too. I cried. And I cry. Only because I feel.

Crying doesn't make you weak. It doesn't prove you're strong either. It's just a natural thing. Those who feel, they cry. It is all about the sensitivity. How much you're able to feel for others . This makes you human. Crying helps, sometimes. 

But No Answer.

I bury love deep,

under mounds of circumstances

and then call it out loud.

But no answer.

 

 

I prestidigitate love,

from thin air in infinite moments

and then try to remember.

But no memory.

 

 

I met love a few times

on an endless road with vast distance

and then walked ahead in sunshine.

But no shadow.

 

 

I held love in my hands,

looked straight through, deep inside

and then sought my loss.

But no regrets.

Raindrop

Gushing from the corners of sky,

Like a wind, he bestows kisses on my skin.

I feel the wetness, he's as pure as driven snow.

I want to feel him more

But I don't want him to be impure.

As, he is my raindrop.

 

Striding ahead in the gusts of wind.

Like an arrow, he makes his way.

I drop down with amazement, he's a surprise.

I want to see him shine as a pearl

But I don't want him to slip by.

As, he is my raindrop.

 

Dancing upon the leaf, with swiftness.

Like a danseur, he moves about.

I eye him eagerly, he has an allure.

I want him to linger on for more

But I don't want him to drop a fall.

As, he's my raindrop.

 

 

This poem is a response to Ali Sohani's "Snowflake".

 

http://alisohani.wordpress.com/2014/04/20/snowflake/

Demons Inside.

There were demons out and some lay inside,

I rest myself in a peaceful hide.

There is a tarnished strength and my deprived soul.

No wonder, I can never be whole.

 

I struggled across the trenches and mountains.

I weaved my way through the maze of luck.

I, then stood upfront and bore disdain.

 

I seek my way to my inner self.

That pure light which is still blazed.

I seek my way to my former strength.

That I had once and proudly attained.

She Fell In Love. (1)

She fell in love with the sparks that enkindled their young thoughts.

She fell in love with the words and feeling she had fought.

She loved the way he molded his words into embers that light.

Smoked the soul, ignited the fire, an arsonist she couldn't fight.

There had been times, times like these before.

When she was looking and searching for more.

Never did she think she will find one day.

Out of the blue, so sudden, it took her through dismay.

She fell in love how the moments passed by.

She fell in love how the words touched the soul.

How simple emotions were touching the hearts.

They filled the holes of her ripped soul.

He was there so perfect, she knew, her memories revived.

They spoke their thoughts, for endless moments they survived.

One of such moments ceased her by surprise.

Perhaps he was so perfect and from the paradise.

She was under the spell of words that could be felt.

She seeped them in, only to make her heart melt.

The words kept flowing through her rushing blood.

She had been crushed before but emerged as a new bud.

 

Past.

When I look back at the past,

the days that have gone so fast.

I breathe, I remember, I redeem.

I want to be free.

Free, from this memory cage.

The smiles, the tears, the pain.

the loss, the punish, the gain,

the beauty, the innocent, the beast,

the love, the prayers, the feasts.

The nostalgic moments.

The somber moments.

The times are gone and now will never come.

Though I will move on.

I will brace myself,

this part of me will still aberrate in the past.

It will stay behind.

That bit of me which has been ripped.

The piece of me which is lost and nipped.

I heal my scars.

I share my thoughts with paper and pen.

I heal this way my scars.

I carry the shards of broken dreams,

but can never carry them far.

They look at me with amazed gaze,

I can't look back but stride.

I take every step forward,

to gain back my lost pride.

I heal this way my scars,

those pains which cut deep.

That feeling of burnt soul,

that writhing of slaughtered sheep.

I share my thoughts with paper and pen.

I spread my voice unheard.

I heal this way my scars.